The Pine Island Incident

By Jeffrey Harding

"The Pine Island Incident" is an awe-inspiring, first-hand account of Sasquatch, the legendary and mysterious creature that has captivated the imagination of people for generations. Join the author, an expert outdoorsman, on his journey as he shares his own personal encounter with Sasquatch and his quest to uncover the truth about this elusive beast.

From his early years learning the ways of the wilderness, to his time in the US Army, and his post-military life, the author takes you on a journey that is both personal and insightful. He reflects on the impact that different aspects of his life have had on his perspective of Sasquatch, and how his experiences have shaped his understanding of this mysterious creature.

In this book, the author delves into the unknown, exploring theories and ideas about Sasquatch that have never been considered before. He discusses the challenges of collecting evidence of Sasquatch and the need for innovative techniques and approaches to study this elusive creature.

The author's innovative approach to researching Sasquatch is truly one-of-a-kind, proposing the use of mosquito traps to collect samples of unknown primate DNA in remote areas. This groundbreaking idea highlights the need for collaboration and partnership between the scientific community and Sasquatch researchers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hangar 1 Publishing
• Release date: Apr 21, 2023
• ISBN: 1955471770

Book preview

1

THE INVITE

A famous naturalist named Aldo Leupold once said, There are some who can live without wild things, and some who can not. I grew up with a clear understanding that I was one of those who could not. As the son of a hunting guide, I was introduced to more than just the outdoors. I learned what the wilderness looked like. Those areas of the world that are reserved for only those who had a knowledge of how to survive them. My father had that type of knowledge, and he had a passion for making sure he passed it on to me. By the time I was in high school, I had already experienced what it was like to be in truly remote areas while hunting elk, bear and other large game in Wyoming, Montana, and Idaho. My father taught me the hard lessons of how to resist the panic of being lost, or how to find the calm while things were coming apart around you. He helped me unlock the secret of showing reverence to a landscape that can choose to reveal its most beautiful features or swallow you whole.

As a student, I often found myself daydreaming of higher adventures than a classroom could afford. My grades were average at best. I was not going to receive any college scholarships for my academic accomplishments, I really didn’t have any. I enjoyed sports but did not perform at a level worthy of a free ride anywhere. So, naturally, when the Army recruiter came strolling the hallways at my high school, my curiosity had me in pursuit. After some testing and a few physical exams, I was guaranteed a college tuition package and a spot in the US Army’s EOD school. The Bomb Squad. I graduated the last week in May 1987, and I would be leaving for Basic Training at the end of July. I had about 6 weeks to fit a whole summer into before I had to leave.

While at one of my best friend’s graduation parties, he mentioned to me that he, his little brother, his father, and several of his uncles and cousins were leaving on a fishing trip in Canada and asked if I'd like to join them. The trip was going to be fishing for 8 days at a very remote location 120 miles northeast of Flin Flon, Manitoba. The lake was Granville Lake, part of the Churchill Reservoir system and would take us over 20 hours to drive the 1,000-plus miles to get there. I told my parents about the offer, and they agreed it would be a great opportunity to go on an adventure before having to leave for the Army. I was excited. I’d been to a lot of areas hunting and fishing, but never that far north in Canada.

My friend Todd was a lot like me. We both excelled in the outdoors and his father was also an avid outdoorsman who had passed on so many experiences to his sons. Todd and I were both 18 and his younger brother Jamie had just turned 14. We were the only kids on this trip as all of his cousins and uncles were in their late 20s and older. Although all three of us were capable, our age placed us in a position where we felt this was an opportunity to show them that we were their equals when it came to outdoorsmanship. For me, with my life’s next chapter about to start on an Explosive Ordinance Disposal team in the US Army, it was also a chance to prove to myself that I was ready for such an endeavor.

Todd and I were cut from the same cloth. We both were outgoing in school and our friends would describe us both as outgoing and maybe even popular. I didn’t know his little brother Jamie that well. Jamie was the youngest of four brothers and he was quiet. I don’t think he would be the type anyone would consider popular, mostly because he seemed shy if you didn’t know him well. He was the type that would smile at a joke instead of laugh at it. Todd was the levelheaded one. He wasn’t animated and hardly ever showed concern or worry. While everyone else would think out loud, he was always the one taking it all in, measuring options, calculating risks, and doing it quietly. If he was ever excited or nervous, he never showed it on the outside. I appreciated this about him. If you ever needed a straight answer with no BS, he could deliver it unfiltered with a calmness that made you feel his advice was solid.

2

ONWARD

We left on a Thursday. I drove to Todd’s house and left my vehicle there as I joined his family. There were 10 of us. Todd, Jamie and I, his dad, three uncles and three cousins. We would take two vehicles. One was a Ford F250 pulling a large livestock trailer that had five 16-foot aluminum boats piled into the back of it with five 25-horse outboard motors. The other was a Chevy Suburban. Todd, Jamie, and I were in the truck with his dad and one of his uncles. The first leg of the journey brought us to Fargo ND and it took 5 hours to get there. It was an excruciating five hours because Todd’s dad and his uncle listened to old country western music full blast. Occasionally there would be a song we all would sing out loud but for the most part, we wore our Walkman and headphones in the back seat. When we stopped for gas, I was standing outside of the trailer looking through the slats at the boats. It looked like there was room in there for a couple teenage boys. I’m not sure in today’s era of road safety we could have pulled this off, but we asked his dad if we could ride back there. I think at first, he agreed because he figured that within a few miles, we would decide it was a bad idea and beg to come back up front in the truck.

250 miles later, we stopped for fuel again. Todd, Jamie, and I were having a ball back there. We had turned one of the boats over upside right and were riding in it like we were out on the lake. His dad made us move up into the truck because we were about to cross the border and there was a border checkpoint where they did an inspection. At the checkpoint, I was amazed to find out that the Canadian Mounties look just like they did in the cartoons. Their red coats and black hats were bustling around the two vehicles and looking in the trailer. They asked us what our purpose for the trip was, where we were going etc. They asked Paul’s dad if they had any beer or alcohol with them. The adults in our party were big fans of beer and had brought about 15 cases with them. I thought it looked like they were going to be there for a month instead of ten days when I saw all the cases of beer laid out in the parking lot in a row. The Mounties explained that each person of age was allowed one case of beer. There were seven adults in the group over 21. For the other cases, we would have to pay a tax of $36 per case to bring with us, or we could leave them there. The Mounties asked Todd and I how old we were, and we answered 18 and showed our drives licenses. The Mounties moved two more cases into the keeper pile. Todd looked at me with huge eyes and as it turns out, in Canada, you can drink if you are over 18!

It was decided we would drive from the inspection point to a local restaurant. It was a small-town café on the main street in a little town I can’t remember the name of. The waitress came over and took our lunch orders as we all sat at two large tables.

She asked me, What would you like to drink?

I smiled at her and asked, Do you serve beer here?

Todd and I sat there and ate our cheeseburgers with a tall glass of